


change in plans

by ricocheted



Series: interludes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Possessive Cas, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Worship, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 03:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricocheted/pseuds/ricocheted
Summary: "What?" Dean asks. "You wanna run down the clock out here? Not on my watch, pal." He slaps the roof of the Impala twice. "C'mon. Time to figure something else out.""I had assumed that the failure of your plan meant that we would return to mine.""See, Cas," Dean replies. He rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk up. "The operative word there iswe. As in you, here, sitting in the car like a freakin' weirdo, and me, also here, to keep you from pulling that shit."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: interludes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210571
Comments: 4
Kudos: 106





	change in plans

**Author's Note:**

> s5 cas is horny, but in a godly way. dean just happens to be his new god.

The drive to the motel is...curious. Dean puts a cassette into the tape deck of the Impala but keeps the volume down, letting the low swell of music drift through the interior of the car. He doesn't speak, just drums his fingers against the steering wheel, idle and contemplative. The relative quiet isn't uncomfortable; for once, there's no anger or tension to it, no lingering violence or adrenaline shivering in the air. 

Cas finds that there's something gratifying about seeing Dean at peace. He remains quiet as well, contemplating Dean's loud, breathless laughter as they were thrown out; the wide, reckless grin that lit up his face, shone bright in his eyes. It'd felt warm on his skin.

They pull into the parking lot and Dean kills the engine. Cas is still lost in thought when Dean hops out. He lingers in the passenger seat long enough that Dean pauses, ducking his head down to eyeball him.

"What?" Dean asks. "You wanna run down the clock out here? Not on my watch, pal." He slaps the roof of the Impala twice. "C'mon. Time to figure something else out."

"I had assumed that the failure of your plan meant that we would return to mine."

"See, Cas," Dean replies. He rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk up. "The operative word there is _we_. As in _you_ , here, sitting in the car like a freakin' weirdo, and _me_ , also here, to keep you from pulling that shit." 

"Besides," Dean tells him, gesturing vigorously. "You know what they say--no plan survives first contact with the enemy."

"I wasn't aware that those women could be considered our enemies." Cas frowns. "And that statement is objectively untrue. I've personally executed many plans successfully. Whoever said that is likely just a poor strategist."

Dean laughs again, eyes closed and crinkled at the corners. Cas sways towards him, like a flower turning its face to the sun. "Promise, buddy, there's still better things to do. Even if we're just shooting the shit."

There's no universe in which Cas turns Dean down, looking like this--relaxed and happy, even in the face of their impending confrontation. He nods and gets out of the Impala to follow Dean inside.

Crossing the threshold, Dean takes off his jacket and tosses it on his bed. Without further instruction, Cas follows his cue and removes his trenchcoat. Dean repeats the process with his plaid, leaving himself unusually bare in his undershirt and jeans. Cas cocks his head and looks, simply taking in the unobstructed sight of him. 

"Sit," Dean tells him, gesturing insistently to the other bed. "We're at _least_ going to have alcohol." He goes to rummage through the fridge. Cas sits at the edge of the bed but keeps looking, riveted by the flex of his muscles, the stretch of cloth over his body. For all that he built this body, it wouldn't be the same without _Dean_ inhabiting it. 

Watching as closely as he is, Cas sees Dean pause before carefully closing the fridge door and turning around, two beers clutched in his hand. He glances at Cas, gently biting his lower lip in thought. Heat rises at the back of Cas's neck, the tips of his ears. 

"Listen," Dean says, leaning against the counter. He sets the beers down absently, slow to release the necks of the bottles. "About the thing, at the brothel." He lets out a slow breath and runs his tongue across his teeth, cheeks flushed under the constellation of his freckles. "Do you, uh. Do you know that stuff about, y'know. Everyone?" His gaze flickers over Cas, heavy and wavering, as though Dean is fighting gravity to keep himself from looking elsewhere. "About me?"

It doesn't occur to Cas to hesitate. "Of course. When I raised you I both remade your body and stitched together your immortal soul. I know you more intimately than any person could ever hope to." 

The words are simple, straightforward. The quiet that follows them feels complicated. Dean looks taken aback. Lost, somehow.

Cas turns his words over in his head, tries to pinpoint the offense. "I assure you, there's no need to be self-conscious. Should Raphael smite me and irreparably scatter my essence to the furthest reaches of the universe, know that my encounter with your soul and my time with you have been greatly rewarding."

He stops there. It seems too much to tell Dean that, in reality, Cas had almost failed to put him back together. The body was easy, but the _soul_. For days, maybe years, Cas wove, and wove, and wove, and with each piece sewn together it grew brighter and brighter, like holding a star in the cradle of his palms. He'd felt as though his own Grace would melt away from it. He may have seared his mark into Dean's flesh, but the radiance of Dean's soul is seared into his consciousness. 

Belatedly, it occurs to Cas that Dean may have wanted a lie; or, at the very least, a much shallower truth. 

"Okay," Dean says. He scrubs his hand over his face, through his hair. There's a very subtle tremor to it. "Yeah, okay." He laughs, soft and shaky, and walks over to Cas. 

Cas stills when Dean gets close. He shuffles back, trying to respect Dean's personal space--but then Dean gets onto the bed, closing the gap separating their bodies. For a moment, the fragile, human heart of Cas's vessel stops beating.

"Cas," Dean breathes. He's almost sitting on Cas's lap. "You gotta tell me right now if you don't want this." Even as Dean speaks his fingers undo Cas's tie, as surely as they'd adjusted it earlier.

"Dean, what--"

Dean grins. "Hey, listen, I don't quite got the chops to be a working girl, but I know a thing or two." He straddles Cas's thighs, fussing with his suit jacket. Wide-eyed, Cas lifts his arms and allows Dean to strip him of it. 

For a moment, Dean stops and looks at him, as though attempting to stare into the soul that Cas doesn't have. "Seriously, this okay?" 

Overwhelmed by Dean's careful, purposeful touches, the heady rush of being the sole focus of his attention, Cas nods vigorously, hoping the gesture will suffice. He'll gladly take whatever Dean wishes to give.

It appears to work; with that, Dean cradles his face and kisses him. It's just a press of lips, warm and chaste, but it feels as though he's delivering a revelation, meant just for Cas. His lips part, shocked, and Dean slips his tongue inside, sliding it against Cas's own. Cas grabs at him, the crush of their mouths becoming hot and insistent.

Dean breaks away to breathe. He lingers for a moment, breath warm against Cas's lips, fingers toying with the buttons of his dress shirt. There's pink at his cheekbones. Cas wants to kiss every part of him, taste Dean's warm skin under his mouth, sink his teeth into the most sensitive spots. He wonders if Dean will let him. He _wants_.

"Oh," Cas says. This is arousal. He's _aroused_. It feels like something has stolen breath from his lungs; like something is tugging at his chest, and his gut, and his cock. "Yes, Dean, _please_." He thrusts into the friction of Dean shifting against him. His cock is _hard_.

"Shit, yeah," Dean says, breathless. He rocks down, harder. "That's it. Feel good?" He starts to undo the buttons of Cas's dress shirt. "C'mon, pal, let's lose the threads." 

Leaving Dean to it, Cas buries his face in Dean's throat. He smells so good. Cas licks at the sweat over his pulse, itching to read Dean's thoughts, to learn his desires and how to best touch him. But they've--they've discussed this. He won't. Instead, he kisses the curve of Dean's jaw, rapturous.

Fingers tug gently at his hair. "Hey," Dean admonishes, shakily. "We've got business."

Cas doesn't care about Dean's business, certainly not more than he cares about the noise Dean makes at the scrape of his teeth. But then Dean turns and catches Cas's lips, murmuring against his mouth. "You'll like this one, buddy. I promise." Pushing at him, Dean slides off the bed and kneels before him.

Cas inhales. He doesn't need to. He can't help it. "Dean--" 

Dean grins up at him. "Don't worry, I've done this once or twice. Just been a minute." He goes to unbutton Cas's dress pants; impatient, Cas vanishes the rest of his clothes. 

"Forgot you could do that," Dean says, wryly. He pushes Cas's legs apart and dips his head between the splay of Cas's thighs. 

Cas stares and clutches the bedspread. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, buries them in Dean's hair without thinking. It's short, barely enough to grab, and soft. Dazed, Cas strokes through it. This feels like blasphemy. It feels like reverence. 

Dean's heart rate quickens, loud to Cas's ears. Startled, Cas flinches away, but Dean catches his hands.

"It's cool," Dean says, breathy. "Go for it, dude." Cas cups Dean's head, slow and cautious. "That's right, there you go." Cas tugs his hair and Dean's heart beats faster.

"You're doing good, Cas," Dean promises, mouthing at his thigh. There's a slight slur to his words. "You're doing so good, I've got you." He drags his lips up Cas's thigh, further, further, reaches Cas's cock and kisses it. "Let me know when you're close." He runs his tongue along Cas's length as Cas pants and shakes. 

" _Dean,_ " Cas begs, just as Dean takes the head of his cock into his mouth, tongue curling at Cas's slit. It's so hot, wet; Cas almost sobs with it. Dean keeps going, slides his mouth down Cas cock, sucking easily. 

Cas groans, thrusting into his mouth. Dean looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, as though asking if Cas is okay. His cheeks are pink, his lips soft and stretched around Cas. The gold-flecked green of his eyes has been eclipsed by his pupils. His tongue is pressed to the underside of Cas's cock.

"Beautiful," Cas says, eyes wide and fervent. "Dean, you're--" 

Dean closes his eyes, hollows his cheeks, and sucks, more forceful than before. Untold prayers die on Cas's tongue. It's too good, it's too soon, it's too _much_. 

"Dean," Cas gasps, vision blurring at the edges, "I'm--" 

Without looking, Dean gives Cas a thumbs up, humming around his cock. The sound coils inside of him. He wants to keep his cock in Dean's mouth forever. He wants to get Dean's cock in his mouth, make him feel as good as Cas does.

Cas's hips stutter. He tips right over a precipice, captive to the pleasure that surges through him. He jerks and spills into Dean's mouth, moaning in desperation. This is--Cas gets it, understands why humans do this, the obsession with it. 

Dean sucks Cas through his orgasm, swallowing Cas's release. Overwhelmed, Cas stares at Dean as humans gaze at the stars. For a moment, Cas could swear that Dean looks up at Cas the same way. 

Then, Dean pulls off Cas's cock and flashes him a cocky grin. "So, how'd that--"

Cas drags him close, licks into Dean's mouth and tastes his come on Dean's tongue. Dean tastes of _them_.

Dean laughs and kisses him back, voice hoarse. "Like that? It's all you." It very much isn't; but Cas won't argue, not with Dean kneeling before him, sounding like that, because of Cas. He watches as Dean palms the front of his jeans. The touch is subtle; Dean is attempting to focus this encounter on Cas's pleasure. He doesn't understand that Cas would give his wings to touch him.

"Dean," Cas breathes, " _please_ , let me--" He doesn't know what he's going to do, but he made Dean, and he will unmake Dean. Him, not one of the women from the brothel, not anyone else. 

"You sure about that?" Dean asks, eyeing Cas. Sweat beads at his temple. His lips are bruised. Distracted, Cas barely listens. "This didn't come with strings, pal. You don't owe me shit."

Ideally, Cas's stare communicates that Dean's question is ridiculous. "I was under the impression that this act frequently involves reciprocation." Emboldened, he presses his thumb to Dean's mouth. "I don't think that denying me would be in the spirit of this endeavor." 

Dean smiles, eyes crinkling with surprise. He kisses Cas's thumb. "You got it." He gets up and straddles Cas's thigh, tugging off his shirt and rocking his clothed hips. 

It doesn't feel right. "Rough," Cas complains, grabbing at Dean's jeans. The fabric chafes at his naked skin; it keeps him from seeing Dean, from touching him. 

"Sorry, buddy," Dean murmurs, pressing his mouth to Cas's in apology. Cas keeps him there, loathe to end the kiss, until Dean pushes at his shoulders. 

Cas could remove Dean's clothes without effort. He did so with some of his own garments. But that would deprive him of Dean's rough, blushing exhale at baring himself before Cas; of the open sight of Dean's cock, flushed like his chest and so, so hard.

Heat simmers under his skin. "Come back," Cas demands, "Dean, come _here_." Dean complies, situating himself on his thighs. Dean's dripping cock rubs against Cas's abdomen, and he makes a sound that Cas has never heard before. Cas commits it to memory, then thinks about where Dean's tongue felt the best, rubs under the head of Dean's cock and thumbs at the slit, smearing the precome leaking from it. Dean groans; Cas repeats the motion, slow and pleased. 

" _Fuck_ , Cas, yeah. Here--" Cas almost refuses to let Dean tug his hand away. It's worth it when Dean licks his palm, slides his tongue over Cas's fingers and sucks at them, wet and careless. 

"Like this," Dean breathes. He wraps their hands around his cock, covering Cas's with his to guide him through it. Cas stares at the sight, eyes wide and hungry. Dean exhales, urging Cas to move their joined hands. It's so slick, wet with saliva and precome. Cas tightens his grip and swells with pride at Dean's shaky moan.

Bared as Dean is, Cas's mark on his shoulder is readily visible. Possession overtakes him, unlike anything Cas has felt since witnessing Anna kiss Dean. His free hand slides up Dean's arm, almost of its own volition; enthralled, Cas watches himself grasp the hot, raised scar.

The touch gives Cas access to Dean's soul and he gasps, cock twitching at the roiling arousal that slams into him. He tightens his grip on both Dean's shoulder and his cock; without thought, he locates the echo of his Grace left within Dean's soul and reaches out, letting his own Grace tangle with it.

" _Cas_ ," Dean moans, right as Cas's mouth crashes into his to swallow the rest of the sound. Cas's world becomes the swollen red of Dean's lips, the sweat gathering at the hollow of his throat, the blown green of his eyes, the erratic thrusts of his cock into Cas's curled fingers. Cas wants to sing praise and gratitude into Dean's ears, promise to take care of him, to treasure him like the gift he is. 

It's likely for the best that Dean comes first, bright and shuddering, with a soft, broken sound that Cas immediately resolves to hear again. He strokes Dean through it, letting him spill over their fingers and onto his stomach. Fascinated by the look and feel of it, he rubs some into Dean's skin. 

Dean snorts and wrinkles his nose. Cas startles, removing the mess with a thought. Dean laughs; Cas sways towards him, helpless.

"Probably not what you expected," Dean mumbles, nosing against his cheek. Orgasm seems to agree with him. He kisses the edge of Cas's mouth, soft and glancing, and Cas basks in the affection. "Hope it lived up to the hype, pal." He strokes Cas's cheekbone, fondly. "Now, how about we get some rest?" 

With that, Dean flops down onto the bed and drifts into slumber with unusual ease. It robs Cas of the chance to tell him that he knows every language that has ever existed, and none possess the words to describe the experience of being entrusted with Dean's body, his desire, the bright, hungry light of his soul. 

Settling in to watch Dean sleep, Cas takes in the slow rise and fall of his chest, the loose, sated sprawl of his limbs. This is what Dean looks like after he's been fucked, Cas thinks.

Well. Almost. He didn't _take_ Dean, not quite. _Not yet._ Cas sighs, smoothing his thumb over the curve of Dean's ear. It's a treacherous thought; they likely won't survive their confrontation with Raphael. Should that be the case, this is a better ending than Cas could have imagined. What he told Dean remains the truth. He does not, and will not, regret any of it.

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe i got suckered back into this show. come watch my brain rot at ric0cheted @ tumblr dot com.


End file.
